Hail to the Stag Kings

Chapter 25: Ambush at White Harbor

—The North—

White Harbor...

There was something utterly enchanting about the North. With its vast wilderness, forests, pine-covered hills, and snow-capped mountains. The fresh crisp air that filled the lungs and the endless ranges that stretched from one horizon to another. It was like stepping back in time, to a period when nature still ruled.

As a boy, Daemon could remember sitting at the feet of his grandmother, while she told him story after story over her native homeland. Even now, he could recall being swept up by her enchanting words of giants riding mammoths, direwolves the size of horses, of the ancient Kings in the North winning Bear Island from the ironborn in a wrestling match. Some nights, she would tell stories of the haunted forests, of the frozen wights, the barrow kings, and the bloody Boltons. Argilac had liked to scare him, saying that a Bolton would come for Daemon in the night and flay him. But his grandmother would always soothe him, saying that the blood of the wolf flowed through Daemon's veins and that a skinless man could never defeat the wolf. And now that he was here in the North, Daemon could almost feel it, as if the wild was calling to his Stark blood, welcoming him home.

Upon disembarking from the ship, Daemon and Rodrik set foot in White Harbor - the only city/main seaport in the North and seat of House Manderly. Even though they had dressed for the occasion, the rebel Prince was not used to this new weather.

"ACHOO!" Daemon sneezed, shivering, and rubbing his palms furiously trying to warm himself. "Seven hells! Why... Why is the North so bloody cold?!" he complained.

Rodrik was unaffected. The North was his home, the home of his ancestors. In the winter season, every northern house bands together to survive. And for thousands of years, House Stark has led the way. But with reports of a terrible blizzard heading their way, they had to move to Winterfell before the temperature fell even further.

"G-G-Grandma, often t-told me stories about the... the North," Daemon continued through chattering teeth. "N-never did I ever imagine... th-that I'd be here of all places. Seven hells, I can't feel my toes!"

Rodrik roared with laughter, he had found a heavy fur-lined coat from the ship captain and tossed it to Daemon. "Your grandmother should have brought you here, to help keep you from a dainty southern child. Honestly, this is summer in the North and you are cold? I've seen men swim naked to Skagos and back in far worse temperatures."

The air of white harbor was a buzz with activity, although Daemon's arrival in the North was supposed to be kept a secret, but obviously, word must have gotten out and it seemed like half the city had turned out to take a gander at the prince. Guardsmen of House Manderly, wielding tridents stood at the jetty, saluting, and raising their weapons at the sight of the shivering stag prince.

"Welcome back, Ser Rodrik," one of the guards said.

"Is it true?" another asked. "After 800 years, has it finally happened?"

Word amongst some northern lords had already begun to spread. Was someone finally summoned by the Three-Eyed Raven to undergo training?

A carriage had been prepared to take the Stark and Baratheon boys up to Newcastle. House Manderly had planned a kind of celebration for the arrival of Daemon, there was to be a feast and the chief cleric from the Sept on the Snow wished to anoint Daemon as the Defender of the Old and New Faiths.

"HNNGGH!" Daemon clutched the side of his head. The visions were coming in more frequently, but... he looked like he was in a state of great discomfort to the point of physical pain.

« ...They are here... »

"Well, well... You've led us on quite a chance, little Prince," a rough woman's voice called out. "But in the end, luck runs out eventually."